The Squid Sisters in: The Kase of the Krusty Krab
by dionysianDaydream
Summary: Inkopolis's very own Squid Sisters visit Bikini Bottom for a commercial shoot and arrive just in time to bear witness to a gruesome murder that shakes the town to its core. As much as Callie would prefer to just film the thing and get out of there ASAP, Marie smells something fishy and it has nothing to do with the Chum Bucket's new breakfast special!


The Squid Sister limoSEAne cruised at a speed of roughly 87 nautical miles per hour, through completely barren wastes of endless sand but for the occasional roving tumblekelp or non-flashy billboards that advertised above all else the unapologetic rurality of the famous duos' destination.

"Okay, what exactly's got you looking so glum, chum?"

Marie appeared to be markedly more miserable than usual, much to the dismay of her cousin and co-star alike, Callie. For the latter this meant that the long drive after an already grueling three-hour early morning flight had also been a quiet one, since the driver was the passively aggressive type that did not much care to engage in conversation with squids half his age that often made ten times more money in a month than he did in a year. Compounded with the fact that Callie's gameboy's battery was completely drained, she was left the sole option of staring out a porthole at the impressively dull scenery, up until she could not endure the silence any longer.

"Nothing," Marie softly replied after a while, but breathed a sigh that hinted at something more.

 _Bikini Bottom_ , a colorfully decorated sign declared in passing, as if in a schmoozy gesture to fill the solemn starlets with excitement at the mere prospect. Needless to say it did not succeed in this regard, as the atmosphere between the girls only thickened.

Meanwhile, business was the usual at the Krusty Krab.

Spongebob Squarepants dispensed a row of patties unto the heated grill with one sloppy hand gesture. It was a packed lunch hour, so while the latest installment of patties sizzled for a bit the young frycook thought he might take the opportunity to relax with the help of another cold one "borrowed" from storage.

"Hey, Sponge," the nasally voice of the cashier Squidward hailed through the kitchen window. "Sounds like Krabs and Plankton are at it again."

Spongebob laughed out of reflex, but as he retrieved the first bottle on the shelf and popped the lid, it was with a look of genuine concern that he pressed his ear to the wall so he could overhear the discussion taking place in the managerial office next door.

"How about twenty thousand shells?" Plankton said, pleading desperately. "Eighteen? No, fifteen! Fine, give me ten thousand and it's all yours!"

Mr. Krabs chuckled at his desk, both from the sight of his former business associate turned rival begging hand and knee for him to buy his failed restaurant, but also at the pathetic audacity of even attempting to sell the Chum Bucket in the first place.

"Give it up already, Plankton! That piece of junk is cursed as far as we're both concerned."

Plankton gritted his teeth, proving himself unable to control his anger even while in the process of groveling. "Ten thousand is a steal and you know it, Eugene."

"Oh, it's a steal alright – a steal of me hard earned money!"

Spongebob heard the door slam open, but Squidward had a front row seat to witness the aftermath of another failed talk between the two seasoned restaraunteers: one sorrowful, big-eyed little guy with a face marred by the wrinkles of an incoming foreclosure by infamously apathetic Bikini Bottom National Bank.

Spongebob's vision shifted to the grill, 'a braindead, grease-covered hunk of metal and wires I've seen more than my own mother', or so goes the phrase he couldn't help but ponder through the many long work hours spent alone in its presence.

"Poor guy just wants to find his way in this crazy old world," Spongebob muttered with a jaded smile, toasting his first gulp of Clamshell Light to the pitiful protozoan. "But fast food restaurants are where sea creatures come to dine, and dreams," he said while sobbing, then paused to let the bitter taste of the appropriately priced subpar local brew dull his pain a bit, "restaurants are where dreams come to die."

The patties burned while the young fry cook took his time mulling over the details.


End file.
